Concupiscible
by Celeste Belle
Summary: The trio return to Hogwarts for their eighth year. Discussion and speculation about Hermione's scars makes her doubt herself. Will a discussion with Ron make everything okay again?


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

A/N: According to Dictionary dot com, concupiscible means "worthy of being desired." Enjoy.

A/N: The trio came back to Hogwarts when it was rebuilt. They wanted to properly earn their graduation. Disregards some of the deaths in the final book.

Concupiscible

Hermione sat studying in the common room. She was proud to be a part of the magical world, and every time she learned something new, she was fascinated. She was glad to be back at Hogwarts after the war, especially since there almost hadn't been a school left to come back to.

On this particular day, however, she'd have given anything to be anywhere else. Her dorm mates were sitting across the room, giggling over the wizards they fancied, making no secret of the fact they believed they could have anyone they wanted. This didn't usually bother Hermione, but Lavender's scathing comment before breakfast about no man wanting a bushy-haired bookworm who was most likely a prude in bed had really stung. Mostly because Hermione had overheard some of the Gryffindor guys commenting about her scars. Hermione was not vain. She didn't mind having scars. They proved she had survived everything Voldemort had thrown at her. That didn't mean she wasn't conscious about what people thought.

She wanted to be noticed. She wanted to be desired. But mostly, she just wanted to be loved. In particular, she wanted to be loved by a particular man who hadn't paid as much attention to her now that he was so busy getting his life in order. She supposed she would always be second place.

Sighing softly, she closed her book. Standing up, she left the common room to take a walk through the castle grounds. The gentle breeze stirred her curls, even as the warm sun caressed her face. Her feet carried her to the hill overlooking Hagrid's hut. Walking to a secluded area, she sat carefully on the grass. She had to be mindful of the time she spent sitting on the ground; it aggravated some of her injuries. The pain was yet another reminder of her many flaws, of the many reasons her male classmates were not attracted to her. But she would not trade them. They were also reminders of how much she had endured, of what she had survived.

Blinking the moisture from her eyes, she opened her book, and allowed herself to be swept away. It wasn't long before someone sat down next to her. She didn't have to look to know it was Ron. He sat quietly for a while, refusing to interrupt her reading.

When she finished the chapter, she closed the book and placed it next to her. Turning to face him, she smiled softly. He grinned in return. Reaching out an arm, he drew her to lean against him. He had changed from his uniform into more comfortable clothing. As he laced their fingers, she allowed herself to study the arm bared by the short sleeves of his shirt. Moving her hand, she began tracing the scars left by the brains. He shivered, but made no move to stop her.

Finally, Hermione broke the silence. Still tracing the lines, she whispered, "Ron?"

"Hmm?" His voice rumbled in his chest.

"Are you ever self-conscious about your scars?" Glancing up at his face, she met his startled blue eyes.

He was startled, but he knew she needed an honest answer. The manly part of him wanted to say "of course not," and leave it at that, but he would not lie to her.

"Sometimes. I know it makes girls fawn over me because they think I'm something special, but really…I'm just Ron. So what if I have a few scars? They don't need to draw attention to them. Wow. Now I guess I know kinda how Harry felt…"

Hermione giggled. He was rambling.

"Sorry. I just…I don't want attention drawn to them all the time, but I like what they represent. I survived. That's important. Though they also remind me of how stupid I was back then. If I had paid better attention, I wouldn't have gotten hurt. Neither would you."

"Ron." She corrected him gently.

"Sorry. I know. No one knows what _might_ have happened at the Department of Mysteries. But I mean you wouldn't have gotten as emotionally hurt if I'd been a bit more mature and a bit less of a prat."

Hermione sighed. They'd had this discussion. She was tired of it.

"I heard what Lavender said." His abrupt change of subject startled her.

"What?" She cursed her lack of speech. Usually she was so good with words. Why did this man have the ability to make her forget everything she was going to say?

"I heard what Lavender said this morning. You know not to take anything that vicious cow says to heart, right, 'Mione?"

She sighed, leaning closer to him, still tracing the scars on his arm. "I know. I just…there were some…guys who were talking yesterday. It kind of…built up, I guess."

Leaning his head down, he lightly kissed her hair. "What did they say?" If they had made her cry, he would give _them_ several reasons to cry.

"It was nothing, Ron. Honestly." She tucked her face into his shoulder. "They just made a few comments about my scars. No big deal."

"What did they say about your scars?" His voice was unusually soft, and deceptively calm compared to the thoughts running through his mind.

Hermione sighed. She didn't want to discuss this. If she told him, Ron might see her in a way he hadn't before. Their kiss at the end of the final battle had been in the heat of the moment, but it didn't mean she hadn't meant it. She didn't want him to see what those other blokes saw.

"They didn't know I was listening. They talked about how many scars I must have, even though they don't know half of what I went through. They also talked about how the scars must have altered my appearance, and whether or not they…the scars…would alter my performance…in bed."

Ron didn't say anything, but his arm tightened slightly around her shoulders, pressing her so close to him that she was nearly in his lap. "Bloody gits," he whispered into her hair.

She pressed her face into his chest, unconcerned with what the boys had to say, and concerned with what Ron was thinking. He remained silent, however, his thoughts carefully guarded as he held her close to him.

He tried to find the right words to comfort her, even as his mind conjured a thousand things he had learned during the war that would put those blokes in their place. When he couldn't find the words, he wrapped his arms around her and held her, just held her. Finally calm, he pulled away, tilting her face to his as his lips met hers in a chaste kiss.

"You make your scars beautiful," he finally said.

Her radiant smile told him it had been enough, and he was glad. He had never been very good with words.


End file.
